An Introduction: It's Complicated

Remember high school graduation?  At the dance, there was a book of where each student thought they would be 10 and 20 years from now.  What career would they be doing?  Would they be married?  Would they have kids?  Yeah...you remember the book.

Well my little blurb read something like this:  I would be an environmental attorney, probably married, no kids, driving a Porsche.  I look back on that and laugh or cry depending on the day.  Reality, 22 years later, does not even come close.  I work as an emergency response therapist responding to suicide/homicide calls for evaluation.  I've been divorced since 2001 and I have 2 kids--a brilliant 14-yr old daughter and an equally special, ASD/DD 13-yr old son with many other issues.  I drive a 2002 Dodge 1500 pickup that has seen better days.

I work 15 days on 24/7, I get 15 days off. Sometimes I get a call, sometimes I don't.  Sometimes I am out all night, sometimes I am home for days much to my children's distress.  They can't get away with nearly as much. I live paycheck to paycheck, struggle day to day to pay bills even with a bunch of college degrees...deliberate career choices so that I could be there when my kids need me.  Yes, we could use the money.  No, I won't have someone else raising my kids or having them be a latch-key kid like myself.  Is this the life I signed up for at 18?  No.  Am I disappointed?  No. It's just been different than what I would have imagined for myself.

When my baby boy was 9-months old, he battled one illness after another, after another.  At first it was an ear infection.  Next was bronchitis.  Another ear infection.  Strep throat.  Another ear infection and the cycle repeated.  At 11-months, he started feeling better; his bronchitis was clearing up enough so we could go visit his father 160 miles away.  When we got there, he got sick...again.  By the next morning, he looked, in the only way I could describe...droopy.  The nearby clinic got us in that morning and by the time we sat in the physician's office, my son's lips and fingertips were blue and he was barely conscious.  His oxygen saturation levels had plummeted, nebulizer treatments were not working and we were rushed to the emergency room.  I had never been so scared in my life.  Then the hospital staff tried to start an IV.  In one arm...he pulled it out.  In another arm...he pulled it out.  Finally, they wrapped his arms in boards and stuck the IV in his head.  It was the closest I had ever come to passing out, peeing my pants and going hysterical in my life.  We stayed in PICU for a week with the intubation bucket close by.  Suddenly, we were discharged.  The joy of having him home for Christmas, even after that brief stay, was euphoric.  I still remember his picture from his homecoming.  Half his head was shaved of his white-blonde hair.  He was smiling, laughing that deep-in-your-toes laugh.  It was infectious.  His bright blue eyes were glowing.  I still look at that picture and cry--not for what had happened but for what had been gained: health and strength.

Fast forward a few months, when my son was 16-months old, he said the word, "apple."  Never heard it again.  A month later, he said, "Purple."  Never heard it again.  Everyone said he was just a slow talker.  I didn't buy it one minute and spoke with our wonderful pediatrician. I figured it had something to do with all his illnesses and low oxygen saturation levels. He didn't buy it either and referred us to Family Outreach where he was assessed at being significantly below developmental age levels.

So begins our story of health issues, autism spectrum, IEPs, and strangely enough, unsurpassed joy and good times and miracles.